


Shallows

by tyomawrites



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anne/Jack BrOTP, Creative Writing Major Jack, F/F, F/M, Jack Needs a Hug, M/M, Marine Biologist Charles, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-04 22:47:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17907128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyomawrites/pseuds/tyomawrites
Summary: Jack's lived through five lifetimes trying to find Charles, what's one more.Major Character Death warning is for Charles' death in show, not taking place in the actual fic.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> song title is from "Shallows" - Lady Gaga & Bradley Cooper.  
> Big Mood
> 
> this'll turn into a series eventually

Jack is at a party, it’s being hosted by Max, and Jack is great at parties. He sips at his drink, against the counter top of Max’s kitchen. It’s a stark difference from what they used to be, feared pirates of the seas, and now, they’re college students trying to find fucking Charles Vane

Every time Jack had thought that he’d come close to finding Charles, running into someone who looked like him, spoke like him, even had the same gait like him, he’d been sorely disappointed. None of them recognized him.

Three hundred years of a wait, and Jack is so tired of not finding Charles. He’d found Anne first, in his second life, and then he and Anne died together and found Max in their third. And now, they’re in their fifth life and the three of them have been together. 

Jack misses Charles so bad.

Anne slinks past him with Max, looking out for him like she always does and turns his head towards the door abruptly. He sputters with the mouthful of beer in his drink. In the midst of a protest, he catches familiar blue eyes. There’s the same cut of jaw, hair tied back with braids. And then Jack catches the necklace sitting on his collarbones and the earring in his ear.

All the past Charles’ have never had the necklace or earring. 

He continues to sip at the drink in his hand, until he notices that Charles his heading straight for him. He takes a long drink out of the bottle, wipes the back of his hand across his mouth and steels himself for the inevitable rejection he’s about to face.

Charles smiles at him, predatory and the blue eyes on him keep him pinned where he’s leaning against the counter. He holds out his hand. “Charles Vane.” He introduces himself. 

“John Rackham.” He shakes Charles’ hand. “But my friends can call me Jack.” His name still means so much to him, even if it doesn’t carry as much weight as it used to. 

Jack feels his heart skip a beat, when Charles settles in next to him, against Max’s stark white counter top. Jack slides him a bottle, happy that the drinks are all lined up behind him. Charles takes it, and then cracks the top of the bottle off with his ring. Jack recognizes that ring, one of the bulky silver bands that he gave Charles, not caring about the implications tacked onto it.

“So, why aren’t you mingling with everyone. Seems like your kind of party.” Charles says to him over the rim of his bottle. 

“Not one for parties.” He usually is, but Max holds them as a way to try and find Charles, hoping their names will attract and trigger some kind of memory. “Not really.” He’d be better if he had the real Charles, his Charles.

Charles puts the bottle down next to him, his fingers brush against Jack’s and Jack’s heart aches. “You don’t seem like you’re boring.” Charles muses. Jack lifts his head in indignation, ready to protest when he finds the smirk on Charles’s face.

“Well I’m not.” He doesn’t want to play games if this Charles isn’t, his Charles. He takes another long drink from the bottle, finishing his drink and slamming the bottle down onto the counter, albeit a little harshly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to say goodbye to Anne and Max.” He moves away from the counter and ignores the tingle in his fingers where Charles brushed against him. 

He catches Max and Anne in the front of the apartment and catches their attention.

“Is it him?  _ Mon cher? _ ” Max asks him with an arm around Anne. 

Jack frowns, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know.” He doesn’t turn around to look at Charles, but he can feel Charles staring at his back. “He’s. Charles in every sense of the word but I don’t know.” Jack sighs. “I’m gonna take off okay, I’ll see you both tomorrow?” He glances at Anne.

She nods at him, silent, and lets him brush a short kiss to her forehead. “I love you darling.” He pats her shoulder and the corner of her mouth turns up.

“I’m sorry.” Max says to him softly. 

He gives her a soft smile, ignoring the way his bottom lip is trembling and heads towards the door, grabbing his coat from the coatrack and slinging it around his shoulders.

The cold autumn air bites at him, as he leaves the building. The night sky is peaceful and Jack starts the walk back to his apartment, eyes half-closed as he lets the wind blow across his face. He ignores the single tear that rolls down his cheek, cold. It’s been so damn long. Jack gasps, his breath visible in the cold air. 

“Hey wait up.” His chest aches. Charles, Charles is behind him. Charles  _ followed  _ him out of Max’s apartment. “Christ you walk fast.” Charles bounds up to him and clasps an hand on his shoulder. Jack tries his best not to flinch when Charles gives him a predatory smile. He’s been seeing that smile in his dreams for the last couple hundred years.

“Look let me walk you home.” Charles offers when he doesn’t say anything.

“Uh, yeah I’m just on the other end of the next block.” Jack gestures across the street. 

“You know, I expected you to stay with your girlfriend, not leave her at a party.” Charles comments when they’ve been walking for a few minutes. Charles’s hands brush against his while they walk, his fingers finding Jack’s. Jack’s knuckles crack when he clenches his fist, a blush covering his cheeks. Of course this isn’t Charles, Charles would know better.

“Anne isn’t my girlfriend.” He swallows the lump in his throat, ignoring the heat in his cheeks when they turn onto his street. Jack wishes it’s winter, then he can really blame something for the way he can’t lift his face to look at Charles.

“Oh.” Charles doesn’t say anything after that, and Jack tucks both his hands into his coat pockets against sighs again, a little quieter.

Jack can feel Charles’ eyes on him when they finally get to Jack’s apartment. “Well this is my place.” He shuffles his feet. “Would you like to come up for a cup of coffee?” Manners are still important, even if he’s still a reincarnated pirate who’s been looking for the love of his life for the past three hundred years.

Charles grins at him and his eyes twinkle in the light of the streetlamps and he steps closer to Jack. “I’d love too.” He says lowly. Jack fiddles with his keys, fingers slipping on the lock, once, twice and then he’s pushing his door open and inviting Charles in.

He slings the his coat off of his shoulder and hangs it onto the coat rack, as well as his silk scarf. He turns to Charles and gestures to Charles coat, a soft brown thing that Jack can swear he’s had a say in whether or not Charles should wear it. Charles slings it off and hands it over to him. He places it gently onto the coat rack and takes two strides over towards the thermostat.

“How’d you take your coffee?” He pokes the buttons on the thermostat until the temperature is back to where he likes it. Anne likes to fiddle with it when she comes over. Charles paces behind him, obviously looking around the place. 

“Black, one sugar.” This Charles is the closest thing to real then. He nods, mostly to himself, Charles can’t see his face, and he makes his way into the kitchen. As flamboyant as he is in his clothes, his apartment is plain. There are a few important pieces, call backs to his previous lives that he’s kept around, his and Anne’s hats are tucked on the mantelpiece above the fireplace. He has one of Charles’ necklaces on his dresser in his bedroom, he wears it sometimes, and thinks that maybe being a pirate was the best lifetime he had.

“Lovely place you got here.” Charles comments as he walks into the kitchen. He’s set the kettle to boil and takes the the jar of coffee out of the cupboards. It’s some fancy blend that Max insists that he buys so she can make her favourite coffee when she comes around. He drops them onto the counter when he turns around to find Charles in his face.

“Although it’s not as lovely as the look on your face when your flustered.” Charles crowds him against his counter top, the corner of his mouth turning up as Charles searches his face.

“Uh, Charles, is it, maybe if you could just, back up a little.” Jack stammers, leaning back against the counter.

“What’s the matter Jack?” Charles stares at him hungrily, “Cat got your tongue.” Charles touches him, his hand, his arm, and then his chest and then Charles cups the side of his jaw and leans in.

“Well uh.” Jack’s fingers are shaking, when he plants his hands onto Charles’ chest, he tries and fails, to push Charles away. “You see.” His heart is pounding in his chest when Charles leans in closer to him. Jack wants to close his eyes, wants to pretend that this is his Charles and not just some cruel jest of fate. 

“Jack look at me.” He looks away from Charles, can’t meet his eyes. “Tell me you want this.” Charles says, softly, not forceful by any means.

“I do.” He breathes. He’s soft and malleable and enthusiastic as Charles runs his hands down his sides. God he does, he wants it and the only thing he wants more than this, is for Charles to be the real Charles. For him to be  _ his _ Charles.

Charles leans into him and kisses him, the same way he remembers. How Jack fucking missed this, when Charles grabs his cheek and tilts his head easily. Charles, in every reincarnation, will always be taller than him, stronger than him. Charles kisses and kisses him until his chest is tight and he’s panting. 

Charles picks him up by his thighs and gets him up onto his kitchen bench top, slotting in between his legs. He kisses him again and Jack tangles his hands into Charles’ hair, tugging on it. 

“Charles.” He gasps when Charles pulls away, eyes dark with arousal. “Please tell me you’re gonna fuck me.” He’s not usually straight forward, that’s more Anne’s route, but then Charles’s eyes narrow and Charles is lifting him easily, hands squeezing his ass.

“Bedroom?” Charles asks against his throat, backing out of the kitchen.

“Second door on the right.” Charles practically kicks his door open, tosses him onto the bed and starts stripping out of his clothes without a second thought. Charles’ dark green shirt gets thrown onto the dresser, his jeans and boxers get shoved down and left in a pile on the floor. 

Jack fumbles out of his own clothes on the bed, hard from all the manhandling, and gets the breath punched out of his chest when Charles prowls onto the bed looking like a big cat. Some things never change. Once they’re both naked, and Jack has his legs spread and over Charles’ shoulder, and Charles’ cock pushing inside him.

Jack let’s go. 

He squeezes his eyes shut and takes in how Charles’ hand feels around his cock, Charles’ hair trailing across his throat and Charles’ lips across his collarbones. Charles practically devours him in their pleasure, scratching, biting, licking, like he’s savouring the taste of Jack’s skin and Jack has to push down the sob bubbling in his chest.

Charles fucks him until he’s ruined, like he always has. Until they’re both coming, Charles inside Jack and Jack over Charles’ hand and the bed sheets. Jack pants with an arm strewn across his face, his own teeth having bitten into his bicep more than twice while Charles was fucking him.

Charles pulls out of him and slots himself against Jack, kisses his throat softly, gently, and then Charles is slipping out of his bed. Jack resists the urge to shoot his hand out to stop him, as Charles fishes around the room for his shirt and boxers.

As he’s laying there, he can hear the sound of the kettle whistling for attention in the kitchen. He slips out of bed towards the coat rack in his room, where he pulls on a robe and strides into the kitchen to deal with the kettle. Charles doesn’t come out from inside the bedroom, as he pours two mugs of coffee and makes one exactly the way that Charles likes it.

When he brings the mug back into the bedroom, Charles is standing at his dresser, holding the necklace in his hands.

“Now as much as I appreciated a good fucking, I’d kindly ask that you not, fiddle with my things while I’m not in the room.” He drawls as he sets the coffees down onto the bedside table.

“Where did you get it from?” He doesn’t meet Charles’ eyes as he sips on his own coffee.

“Old friend gave it to me, it was important, so I kept it.” And Charles did, right before he made Anne and him turn away and leave him to die. Charles doesn’t respond but puts the necklace back down, walking over to Jack with his face set into a neutral expression. Charles drinks the coffee without a comment and then slides into Jack’s bed with a wink.

At Jack’s questioning glance he smiles. “What, did you not want a round two?” Jack puts his mug back down onto the bedside table and smiles. If this is all the universe will give him. He will take what he can get.

When he wakes up the next morning Charles is gone, and so is the necklace.


	2. Chapter 2

Jack tells Anne and Max about it, Charles and the fucking and the necklace. God he’s mostly pissed about the necklace, it was the last thing he had from  _ his _ Charles, and now he didn’t have it anymore. 

Now a week later, they’re out getting coffee between classes, mainly because Jack hasn’t seen Charles since that fateful night in his apartment and Anne is looking like she’s about to murder the first person that gets in between her and some beany goodness, and Max hates seeing them both like this.

In the coffee shop is when things really goes to shit, it’s been building since the night Jack got fucked by Charles, he could feel it. Max goes to order and leaves him and Anne to sit in their little booth away from people, not that there was anyone there once rush hour dissipated. Then in walked Charles with a familiar blonde that Jack never wanted to see again.

Charles Vane had taken his fucking necklace and given it to Eleanor fucking Guthrie. Jack wanted to scream. He has to force himself to look away and clench his fists to stop him from going over there and snatching the necklace right off of her neck. 

His hands are shaking when Max comes back with their orders, only to find Anne trying to get him to respond and Jack red-faced in anger, tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

“We need to go right now.” He hisses out through gritted teeth. He won’t look over them. He won’t make a scene and embarrass Max or Anne. Not now. Max looks at him questioningly and then when she turns her head, her mouth drops open into a small o.

They’re lucky that they always get their orders in takeaway cups, because Max is tugging the both of them out before Anne does something drastic, like gut this Charles with the blunt knife next to her hand, and the cool air helps to calm Jack before he starts hyperventilating.

“The universe hates me.” He drawls dramatically as they’re walking back to Max’s apartment. He could just move in with Anne and Max and burn his apartment down to collect the insurance money so he doesn’t have to face his bedroom again.

“Of all the people to reincarnate. Eleanor Guthrie? Next we’re going to find out that Flint and his entire fucking crew are alive.” When Max and Anne don’t laugh along, he frowns. “No. Them too?” He rubs the palm of his right hand over his eyes and sighs after Max nods. “Can we move onto the next life already?” Every life has been disappointment after fucking disappointment and Jack wants to be done.

“ _Mon cher_ , just because he was with her, does not mean he was with her.” Max tries to placate him, she always does. She’s the calm of the three of them, the eye of the storm that is Jack Rackham and Anne-Bonny. Anne is lucky that she has her.

“He stole that necklace from my fucking bedroom, and you know what that necklace meant. He  _ gave it to her _ .” Admitting it fucking hurts, that the last thing that Charles could've given him was given to the woman who broke his heart over and over. He abandons his coffee cup in a bin as they walk past. “I’m done. I’m done looking for our fucking Captain because the universe won’t give him to me.” 

He spins around to look at Max and Anne wearily. “I’m done.” He stalks off when they don’t respond. He’s going to pack and leave and stop looking for a love that the world doesn’t want to give him.

 

* * *

 

 

He doesn’t really leave, he won’t leave Anne and she’s currently very determined on making him not leave her and Max in this awful city. And then John Silver rocks up out of nowhere in some relationship with both James Flint and Thomas Hamilton. And John Silver invites him and Max and Anne to a party and then he’s stuck chaperoning Max and Anne like it’s prom night and they’re his daughters.

The party is loud and crowded, way too loud and crowded for Jack’s taste and in all honesty he’d lost Anne and Max in the crowd the minute they arrived and was too preoccupied in drinking to his heart’s content at the beer pong table to look for them. He’s always been good at games. Gambling, poker, now it’s board games and beer pong, and, strip pong as the group opposite him has decided.

Nothing better than getting wasted and naked, was he right? It turns out that he’s not too horrible even with how much he’s drunk, but the amount of clothing he’s lost is dangerously high and he’s four balls away from becoming very, very naked.

Out of the corner of his eye he catches Charles standing with Flint, someone who vaguely looks like Flint’s bosun, Billy. And Eleanor Guthrie, and he misses the ball he’d been about to throw. Trust Charles to be the reason he gets thrown off his game. 

He’s already lost his coat, shoes, socks and jacket, all piled onto the chair behind him. The guy on the other end of the table tosses, and it plonks neatly into the bottom right-most cup. He strips his scarf off his neck and places it on the top of the pile before drinking the cup and tosses the ball back, sinking it into the centre cup.

The guy loses his hat with a grin. Throws. Jack strips out of his shirt, gorgeous mustard yellow thing that slips off the chair into a puddle almost immediately after he puts it down. He grimaces but drinks anyway. Jack throws. Random guy strips out of his own shirt. He’s well aware that Max and Anne have pushed to the forefront of the crowd to his right and are cheering him on, clapping and Max has her hands around her mouth so he can hear her over the enthusiastic crowd.

Throws. Jack strips out of his leather pants and doesn’t even blush when he hears oohs and wolf whistles come from behind him. His briefs are snug and low on his hips, as he slings the pants over his shoulder and drinks.

Beer trails down his chin and drips onto his chest as he throws and sinks the ping-pong ball into another cup. He has one cup left, and the man opposite him is the same, and they’re both down to their last item of clothing.

The guy throws. Misses, and Jack grins smugly, swaying his hips and taking aim. He throws. Sinks it. The guy strips out of his own boxers and the crowd explodes. His friends, and presumably his girlfriend, crowd him, and Jack laughs and turns to gather his clothes.

Only, there’s one, tall Charles Vane standing between him and the chair, necklace swinging in his hand.

“What do you want?” He frowns and asks bitterly. Jack is delightfully buzzed and the sight of the necklace in Charles’ hand is dulling it quite significantly. Charles opens his mouth to say something, and then Jack snatches the necklace from his hand. “Fuck did you take it for? You get off on stealing people’s sentimental shit?” It’s not his Charles, he’s allowed to be a bitter bitch if he wants. He moves to push past Charles when Charles grabs his shoulder.

“Jack.” It’s the way he says it that makes him freeze, so low and open. Reminds him of the fond way Charles said his name before, his heart clenches, before Charles died. “Jack, look at me.” Charles squeezes his shoulder.

He shakes the man off, shaking his head and pushing through the crowd of people to his clothes. He gathers them up in his hand, necklace pressed into his palm, bumps into John as he stumbles through the crowd and asks for directions towards the bathroom.

Once he’s in the bathroom he feels like he can finally breathe. He flicks on the sink and grips onto the bathroom counter, staring at his red face and tired eyes in the mirror. “Fuck did I do to deserve this.” He groans and presses his face against the marble counter. “Christ.” He pulls away and forces the breath out of his chest, trying to steady his breathing. The necklace is digging into his palms, he wouldn’t have survived this long without it.

“Jack?” Anne is in the doorway watching him, definitely worried, Jack can tell by the way she’s worrying her bottom lip between his teeth.

“Darling.” He tries for a smile and drops it when she looks at him in a way that’s wholly Anne. “I’m sorry. I can’t keep doing this.” She comes into the bathroom and hugs him, lets him tuck his head against her chest while leaning against the bench top. She pats the top of his head, strokes his hair and the nape of his neck while he sobs his heart out.

“They’re never going to give him back.” He cries into her chest. He knows she hates seeing him like this, and he tries his best not to be weak. She hugs him tighter and stays silent until he calms down.

“You alright?” She asks softly. He shakes his head, tears still tracking down his cheeks slowly. “We’ll take you home.” She offers quietly, her hand on the nape of his neck. He nods and she looks pointedly at his clothes. “I’ll go get Max.” She’s hesitant to let go of his hand, and he is too. So afraid that if he lets her go and she doesn’t come back with Max, he’ll truly be alone.

He lets her go, only because she promises she won’t be long, and he starts to pull his clothes on. Sticky leather pants that normally he’s used too, are too tight for him now, clinging to his legs and making him feel all wrong. He pulls his shirt on with shaky hands, wiping his eyes on the sleeves. He carefully wraps his scarf around his throat, tries to remake himself into the man he once was, when he was Jack Rackham, quartermaster to the  _ Ranger _ , Captain of the  _ Colonial Dawn _ .

The image of himself in the mirror is pitiful, more pitiful than he's ever been, and then he catches movement in the reflection and he spins around. Charles is lurking in the doorway, eyes trained on the tear tracks on Jack’s cheeks.

“Jack.” His voice is soft, but Jack remembers it so fucking well, whispered in the dark just before dawn. “Please. Let me explain.” A cruel irony, his own words when he once pleaded with Charles, thrown back at him. His bottom lip wobbles when Charles steps closer.

“What is there to explain?” He asks bitterly, turning away to stare at the mirror. “You fucking stole something that means-” He clenches onto the bench top. “It means so much to me and you just took it. For what? Your own amusement?” He’s trembling against the marble, and the tears are threatening to fall again from his eyes.

“You didn’t wear it.” Charles says like it’s supposed to mean something. He couldn’t wear it because he hadn’t found Charles. He’d promised he wouldn’t until he found Charles.

“Fuck does it matter to you if I didn’t wear it. It was given to me. It’s not just yours because I wasn’t wearing it!” He snaps, whipping his head to glare at Charles. “You wouldn’t fucking know shit about why I wear it or not!” He wants to fucking hit him, Charles. Except it’s not Charles, it’s just a man who carries his name and has is face, some fucking impostor.

“If you weren’t wearing it, it deserved to be given to someone who would.” Charles says plainly, leaning against the door frame casually. 

Jack sees red. Like Eleanor fucking Guthrie deserved to be the object of Charles’ affections anymore. 

“The man I fucking love most gave it to me and I promised myself I wouldn’t wear it until I found him again.” He stalks forward, the necklace still clutched tightly in his hand. “You had no fucking right deciding who fucking deserved to wear it!” He slams the palm of his hand, the one with the necklace, it’s cord wrapped around his fingers, into Charles chest hard, shoving him out of the doorway.

He raises his fist, and for the first time in his life he punches Charles and he means it. Means every bit of anger and venom that drips from his pores and from his lips. Charles doesn’t even fight back, he just looks at him like he’s high again. Jack remembers what he looks like when he’s high, eyes wide and hazy, like he’s seeing without really seeing. He punches and punches until Charles’ head is lolling back and blood is pouring from his nose and Charles smiles at him, blood in his teeth, and says, “Glad to know you still love me Jack" with a bloodied laugh.

Hands grab his shoulders and pry him away from Charles, and he’s still screaming obscenities and threats at him.

“Jack! Jack!” The person shaking him shouts into his ear as John kneels next to Charles and taps the side of his face. Eleanor. The person touching him is Eleanor. He shakes her off of him, turning around ready to hit her too, when Max grabs his arm.

The look she gives him makes the whole world freezes around him. “She knows.” The words fall out of his mouth. He can feel the necklace in his hands still, knuckles sore, adrenaline still pumping through his veins. “He knows.” Charles’ words ring in his ears and he breathes harshly. Max’s face changes into something apologetic and Jack fails to stifle the sob that bubbles out of his throat.

Charles knew and still gave the damn necklace away. Charles didn’t want him to have it anymore. His fingers tremble around the cord and his nails dig into his palms. He takes a deep breath. Then drops the necklace onto the floor.

“I never want to fucking see you again.” He says, defeated, over his shoulder towards Charles.

“Jack.” Eleanor tries once more to get his attention but he ignores her and pushes through the crowd that gathered around them. He shoves past Flint, who only shoots him a worried glance. Appreciated, but then again, not really. He leaves John’s apartment, tears streaking down his face and his chest decidedly empty, like his heart's been ripped out.

The trek home is painful and cold. His coat is still, thrown across John’s bathroom counter and he’s not going back to get it. His chest hurts when he realizes that his knuckles are still covered in blood, Charles’ blood. He shakes when he pushes into his apartment, Charles’ blood streaking the hallway to his living room where he brushes his knuckles against the wall to steady him.

He sits in the bathtub soaking for a long time, with the low lights on, barely illuminating the room. Charles’ blood has left little swirls of red in the water around his hands. The water is warm, not the scalding hot it had been when he sunk into it, but enough that the knots in his back can unwind as he sinks down further.

He pokes his feet out of the water, slides in further until the tip of his nose touches the water’s surface. You wouldn’t be able to tell if he was crying now, the entirety of his face wet, skin scrubbed raw, as red as his eyes are. 

Jack clenches his fist in the water and submerges his head, lungs protesting the lack of air as he pushes himself under and holds himself there. He thinks of Anne and Max, who’ve been with him for the last five lifetimes. He thinks of being a pirate in Nassau, misses the sea, misses the breeze across his face, misses the best life he’s lived.

He remembers Charles, misses Charles, being adored by Charles. Being the one Charles loved. He pushes himself out of the water and gasps. The universe gave him Charles, and then the universe took Charles away from him. They’ve decided he isn’t getting Charles back. He pulls himself out of the tub and wraps himself in a towel and wipes himself off, sighing in the mirror when a dishevelled mess stares back at him.

He calls Anne once he’s curled up in bed. He asks her not to come by for a few days. He needs space, needs to think.

“Want me to gut him for you?” She offers, her voice ringing out through the soft phone speaker. He laughs, a little wetly. Anne has never changed. “I’ll do it you know. He’s not worth it.” She says into the phone and he sighs.

“Darling I appreciate it.” He rubs his eyes against the pillowcase. “But I’d rather you not.” He still loves Charles, with all his heart, he curls around the phone a little tighter when she gives him a small laugh, and then he can hear Max in the background asking if he’s alright. “Tell Max I’m fine.” He tacks on. “I promise lovey.” 

Anne murmurs an I love you, over the phone and he can hear Max yell it out in the background. He murmurs a soft one back and curls up among his pillows and lets himself cry once the phone call ends.


	3. Chapter 3

Anne and Max gave him a week and a half before they came around to peel him out of his bed, which, is longer than he ever expected them to let him sulk. Anne has a key to his apartment and they both let themselves in early on a Saturday. He’s entirely lucky that classes ended right around the party, because he’d be dangerously behind if he’d slept through a week of classes.

He didn’t touch any alcohol the entire time, curled up on his bed with barely any food and only a litre bottle of water next to his bed. Max tsks at him, not being insensitive, and she yanks him out of bed and shoves him into the bathroom for as shower. Any protests that he has is cut off by Max’s stern face and he nods obediently, and patters back into the bathroom.

A shower does him some good. Jack feels better already, just a little. He feels cleaner, healthier, doesn’t feel like he’s going to throw up when he breathes anymore. Anne links an arm through his once he’s dressed in a nice button up and black skinny jeans, clothes that Max laid out for him. Anne looks pretty nice, dressed in a dark green shirt that stops just past her hips and some ripped jeans, an oversized camo jacket around her shoulders. Max is gorgeous as usually, in a long skirt and bright green blouse.

There’s a cup of coffee steaming on the bench top when Anne brings him out into the kitchen.

“So what’s the fancy dress for?” He asks once he takes a sip. His voice is a bit raw, scratchy from being unused for a week and a half.

“We are going out  _ mon cher _ .” Max smiles at him. “You deserve more in life than wallowing in self-pity and sadness, although I understand that it hurts.” Jack pulls her into a hug, careful not to spill his coffee onto her. Max and him don’t usually hug, but it doesn’t feel wrong when she wraps her arms around him. 

“Thank you.” He says into the top of her hair. He’s so glad that Anne has her. He pulls away and smiles down at her. Anne relinks their arms once his coffee is done, and Max takes his other arm gently and they lead him out of his apartment, taking care to lock the door, before they make their way down to a cab.

Max and Anne take him to a bar, albeit, a very nice bar, with live music and a great atmosphere. What he doesn’t expect to see is Flint, Thomas and John standing at the bar, giving him smiles, or to recognize half the people in the bar as pirates he’d sailed with. Featherstone is in the corner with a woman he recognizes as Idelle.

“What is this?” He turns towards Anne and Max.

“It turns out that, this particular town caters to such things, similar to reincarnation.” The corner of Max’s mouth turns up into a smile. “And one its patrons, would very much like to grovel at your feet and apologize.” His mouth sets into a thin line and he turns around, spotting a sheepish Charles Vane standing with his hands behind his back.

“So you brought me here, to talk to him?” He has to tear his gaze away from Charles to look back at Anne and Max for confirmation. His heart is pounding in his chest, dangerously fast.

“We want you happy.” Anne speaks up from behind her fringe, where she’d been eerily smiley. “Talk to him Jack.” She urges, her small hands slipping into his and squeezing.

“Promise you’ll watch my back?” He asks her in a whisper. There’s an ache in his chest, and when she meets his eyes the tension in his shoulders melts away. 

“Always.” She whispers and squeezes once more. He turns back to Charles and takes a deep breath before nodding.

“Alright.” Charles doesn’t move for a moment, staring at Jack, and then he turns and strides towards a booth. Jack follows him, slower, hands getting clammy. Charles pauses at the booth and only slides into one of the seats when Jack gets there. He sits himself down and looks pointedly at the table for a minute, for a minute and a half and then Charles is clearing his throat. 

“I’m sorry.” Charles says softly. Jack’s heart clenches when Charles digs into his coat pocket and pulls out the necklace. Charles places it onto the table, the beads clacking against the wood and each other, and he slides it over to the centre of the table. “I knew the entire time that I used to be, you know, Charles Vane, Captain of the  _ Ranger _ .” Charles starts, fingers fiddling with the necklace and Jack wants to reach out and hold his hand. “And then I saw you at Max’s, in that ridiculous light yellow shirt and patterned scarf that I  _ remembered _ . I was so sure that you would remember me.” 

Charles traces one of the groves in the table with his other hand and continues. “But you didn’t, respond like how I remembered. You didn’t run your mouth and you… You just drank and left after I introduced myself.” Charles drops his gaze onto the necklace.

“I thought maybe you couldn’t remember, or that you… Didn’t want to remember.” Jack’s breath hitches and he frowns, reaching a hand out to touch Charles’ hand. “I tried to let you know.”  _ What’s the matter Jack? Cat got your tongue _ . Charles did try. “But you just, you fell into it and you couldn’t look at me, so I thought if the world wasn’t going to give me you, I’d take what I could get.” 

“And the necklace?” Jack pushes the words out of his mouth, it’s dry and he can feel tears pricking at his own eyes.

“You said an old friend gave it to you. Call it being insecure but…” Charles hesitates and Jack’s heart aches. “I didn’t think it meant to you what it meant to me. I was, scared.”  

“I’m sorry for what I did.” Charles frowns. “For taking it. I understand if you didn’t want it again.” Jack lifts his gaze from Charles’ hand to his face. There’s fading bruises and healing scabs on his face. Jack feels his knuckles twinge. He caused all of that.

“Do you know why I was so angry?” Jack asks softly, thumb rubbing over the back of Charles’ hand. 

Charles shakes his head mutely, and Jack sighs. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “I was so angry, because I saw that necklace around Eleanor Guthrie’s throat and thought that I’d have to go through another lifetime watching you fall in love with her and destroying yourself, when I spent four and a half lifetimes waiting for you so I could love you” Jack grips Charles’ hand when the man lifts his head. “I was so angry because you took the one thing I had left of you, and you gave it away and I thought I lost you for good.” 

“I was so angry because, Charles, you knew I loved you and you still took it away from me.” His bottom lip trembles as he says it. Charles doesn’t say anything so he continues. “I made a commitment Charles,  _ to you _ , I would move heaven and earth for you.” He can feel a tear tracking down his cheek. “I always would, always will. I promised you before and I will still keep that promise.”

“Even if you don’t want me anymore.” Jack breathes softly, his free hand shaking. Charles snaps up sharply to meet his eyes, his blue eyes pained and wide.

“No.” Charles stands and moves over to the side Jack is sitting on, still holding onto Jack’s hand. He leans in, clutching onto Jack’s cheek with his free hand and presses his forehead to Jack’s. “I’ll always want you Jack. Forever.” There are tears spilling down Jack’s face, running down following the same tracks. 

Charles sniffles above him, wet eyes still searching Jack’s face. “Forever.” He repeats. Charles leans in, and Jack surges forwards, meeting Charles in a kiss. His free hand shakily entagles itself into Charles hair and Jack tugs him closer.

“I got you Jack.” Charles whispers when he pulls away from him. “Promise.” The necklace is still pressed in their hands, and Jack pulls Charles into the seat next to him, kissing him again softly.

“And I’ve got you.” He whispers against Charles’ lips. “Always.” 

His chest stops aching.

Next to Charles, he’s home.


End file.
